Do Studio Cuts Dream of Electric Crowds?
By Harlan Kane
On making a Spotify playlist of live recordings when concerts seem like a distant memory
In light of developments surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic, out of an abundance of caution, following the recommendations set forth by the governor, at the direction of local health authorities, in keeping the safety and well-being of our supporters as top priority, with a heavy heart, alongside the now enforced period of social isolation, and in accordance with CDC guidelines: the deeper cuts on this playlist have been postponed so that it may open with a certified banger.
Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1cywk60lMGynkSy86j6fYN?si=eVeC4oyMSIqnus8fF7QATg
As we make our way through these uniquely challenging times (where our inbox seems to exclusively contain the preceding statements), the mission of a playlist that showcases the unique strengths of a live performance has taken on a certain urgency. This is why what is arguably LCD Soundystem’s most legendary song, from what is certainly their most legendary performance, kicks us off. While the ideal playlist should weave a tapestry of concepts before tying them together in an exhilarating crescendo like this one, I think the situation at hand calls for the playlist equivalent of an 8th grader underlining their thesis in a book report. If similar to me you are also confined to your apartment, I would encourage you to get off of the couch/bed and move to the music in your preferred manner.
The “Third Place,” refers to the idea that modern American life can be terribly isolating, so having a place to get to outside of Home and Work (the first and second places, respectively) is critically important. One of the reasons this current period of isolation is so challenging is that our 2nd and 3rd places have been compressed on top of the 1st, and for many of us, experiencing live music was that “Third Place” in our lives. Going out to your favorite music venue to commune with your favorite artists was that reliable place you could always escape to. A concert is many things to many people: a church, a hobby, a distraction, a livelihood, and I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that the state-enforced cancellation of these gatherings feels like a massive tear in the fabric of our lives.
The cheeky Philip K. Dick reference in the title of this playlist, although fairly well aligned to our increasingly Bladerunner-esque present, is actually a relic from the Time Before. Back in the sweet, innocent summer of 2019 I realized that most albums are recorded with the presumption that the songs will be played live, and so it would be fun to build a playlist of live recordings and try to highlight those live-show-exclusive moments.
As the day shifts from work to Tiger King, and then from Tiger King to bed, only to repeat again, it’s these moments I’ve found myself aching to get back to, with every postponement alert email a sad reminder of what was supposed to be.
Health officials tend to think of COVID-19 in terms of its 14-day infection period, and so far in Boston we’ve completed three of these periods, and I am incredibly pleased to announce that I have yet to lose my sanity. During waking hours though I keep finding myself reflexively opening up a Chrome tab and going to my calendar, only to behold the vast nothing before me. Then I scroll back through the sea of CANCELLED and POSTPONED events that now make up my schedule. It’s kind of a fun game to try to recall the person I was back then and the absurd differences in our daily lives. I can see the day of my last pre-quarantine show: it was 3.5 infection periods ago, Leap Day Saturday. The day opened with a Bernie Sanders rally at Boston Common, where I stood 6 inches apart from other supporters as we yelled and cheered for what we hoped would be a Super Tuesday surge. Bela Fleck was the musical support, and afterwards I chomped down some noodles shoulder-to-shoulder in a packed food court. Afterwards, I rode a dense red line train up to The Sinclair to see Everyone Orchestra, an all-improv jam band that wrote a song about how with Boston’s failing public transit and everything going on in the news the only way to cope is to come together through music.
The ensuing days brought the cascade of festival cancellations: SXSW was cancelled, and then Coachella, and then like dominos every other large-scale festival fell, but I was hopeful I would still be able to squeeze one last concert in. Post Animal, coming hot off an exciting new album, playing at Once Ballroom, capacity 200–300, exactly one infection period ago. Because I believe in personal accountability, I will produce below the cringey message that I will forever have to live with having sent that day:
“I haven’t heard any cancellation news yet for Boston shows, but you know me, I’m a hip hipster and only goes to indie shows with bands that have less than 150 fans anyway [sunglasses emoji]”
A few hours later the show was cancelled.
Of course, there is no replacement for live music. A collection of Brady-Bunched heads in a Zoom chat is no substitute for the feeling of bodies collectively vibrating from the blast of a good PA system. For me, the purpose of this playlist is not to make you feel like you are at Madison Square Garden, but rather to help you hold on to that piece of you that feels like it’s missing right now. To remind you that a stadium-size dance party with Radiohead, or a call and response with Tank and the Bangas, or a John Lennon cover by Arcade Fire are all things that used to exist and will exist again.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Colin Meloy is starting his Instagram stream now, and I want to try to catch Ben Gibbard’s at 7.
